


ouroboros

by green_piggy



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Fantastic Racism, Gen, I D K, Mild Hurt/Comfort, but sometimes you just gotta go Fuck It and publish shit, kinda a character study into both of them??? idk, lbr that's a mandatory tag for early por soren interacting with a laguz, me (an absolute legend): SORENULF, me that man slamming the desk: WHAT IF IT WAS EARLY POR, people: ikesoren or ikeranulf, takes place around chapter 8/9 of por, you: ...okay they get on pretty well in rd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 02:25:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19163905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/green_piggy/pseuds/green_piggy
Summary: “...Why are you even here?” Soren's probing gaze examined every inch of Ranulf’s body. “What good does it do you to inform me of this?”“None in particular. Just…” Ranulf ran a nail over the stray fibres of the headband, gazing at its faded colours. He twisted it in his fingers, circling it over and over again. “...Someone has to break the cycle of hate. Otherwise it’ll carry on forever.”--Ranulf encounters Soren in Castle Gallia's library, alone. It... doesn't go as terrible as expected.





	ouroboros

**Author's Note:**

> playing through por (on chapter 19 rn) after watching playthroughs of por and rd due to all the tellius banners we got in heroes this year - thank you for gay rights intsys!! now make these games actually accessible to people ffs
> 
> but Yeah. i love soren! i love ranulf! (i love everyone in this game honestly. apart from makalov, but is there a single soul that doesnt despise him) seems pretty natural to smack them together - they get on pretty well in rd and i've always been saddened by the fact that the true ending, where ike and soren and ranulf all fuck off and leave tellius together, can only be unlocked on your 69th playthrough if you get 420 kills exactly :/// shitty of them to lock it behind such strict conditions
> 
> this ain't anything groundbreaking, but writing quiet little things like this are my favourite kind of things. i enjoyed writing this, and i hope you enjoy reading it!!

Gallia didn't have much of a library, not compared to the sprawling shelves that swallowed sunlight in the larger beorc cities like Begnion’s Sienne or Melior’s archives.

Still. It was nothing to sniff at, even if few laguz held much love for literature, and it was where Ranulf knew he'd find Soren without fail. If he wasn't being Ike's shadow, he was either in his room or the palace’s library. Elincia’s little mercenary army had only been here for a few days, and would leave in less than a week, and already Ranulf knew all of their predictable routines by heart.

Hell, Ranulf himself still didn't know why he was doing this. Not really. Lethe would scoff at him and his 'bleeding heart’, but…

He'd seen that boy’s hatred of laguz. He'd sensed the mixed blood in his veins, even if that symbol on his forehead hadn't immediately given him away.

And Ranulf… well. He didn't know, but something -  _ something _ \- in him overrode the instinctive whispers of  _ “stay away from it it's wrong it’s parentless stay away stay away STAY AWAY” _ and made him want to reach out a hand.

Paw.

Claw?

...Whatever.

Hatred only bred more hatred. And Ranulf had a pretty solid idea of where Soren's had come from.

Ike had been whisked away into a meeting with King Caineghis, about a matter not even Ranulf knew about. Still, it made life easier for him; no Ike meant that Soren could only be at one place now.

He pushed the library doors open. It was rare to find anyone in here, especially at this time, in the hours between night and evening, when the sun hung low and its rays were filtered orange through the countless trees surrounding Castle Gallia.

That, of course, meant that Soren would almost certainly be here; and, sure enough, the crimson eyes that glared at him couldn’t have belonged to anyone else. He was alone as expected, stacks of books on the desk piling taller than Soren himself when he was standing. Even here, even now, even alone, he still had his walls up.

Ranulf held up a friendly hand. “Heya.”

Soren worked his jaw. His fingers twitched around the quill in his hand. Just as Ranulf thought he wouldn’t speak:

“...Did you need something?”

“Nah.” Ranulf’s hand tightened around what he had in his pocket. “Just walkin’ past. I thought I’d drop in.”

“You’re a terrible liar. There’s nothing of interest around here.”

“What, not even you?”

_ “Especially  _ not me.” Soren arched his eyebrows. There was smudges of ink on the side of his hand. “What did you need, Ranulf?”

Oh, so he had remembered his name? Surprising.

“You don't need to pretend to be polite.” Ranulf smiled. “No one else is around.”

Soren said nothing. His steady gaze was - unnerving, especially with eyes as blood red as his. “Who says I'm pretending?”

“I dunno, you've called us 'sub-humans’ already.”

A frown. Then, eventually: “You're one of the only -  _ laguz  _ who have been respectful towards beorc. It's only natural that I return the favour.”

“C’mon, I know you're  _ itchin’  _ to hurl some insults at me.”

Soren’s mouth tightened, just a fraction.

_ Got you. _

“I have work to do. It'd be meaningless to engage you.”

“Damn, you really are brutally honest, huh…” Ranulf grinned. “I like it.”

_ “What?” _

“Everyone in this world seems to be constantly lying, sometimes. Especially beorc.” He widened his grin, enough that he knew he looked more predator than comrade. Soren leaned away by less than an inch. “It's - refreshing, meeting someone who doesn't pull any punches.”

Before Soren could continue - not that he seemed to be in any rush to do so - Ranulf spoke. “So! Since you're such an honest guy, I’ll return the favour.” He reached into his pocket to grab the purpose of his visit. “I came to give you this.”

He dangled it from between his fingertips. Soren stared at it, eyebrows curled, face sneering, as if Ranulf had brought in a dead rodent like the domestic cats beorc loved so much.

He tried to imagine himself as one of those cats, and almost burst out laughing.

“That,” Soren said, “is a headband.”

“Ah, I see the tactican’s rumoured great intellect is true!”

Soren gave him a withering look. “I have no use for this. In case you haven't noticed, I don't wear headbands.”

_ Yeah,  _ Ranulf thought, _ that's the reason I'm giving it to you. _

“You'd be better off giving that to Ike. To someone who would actually appreciate it.”

“I dunno, he seems pretty attached to that rag he has around his head right now.”

So quickly that Ranulf would later swear he had imagined it, an amused smile - more like a quirk of his lips - tugged at Soren's face.

“That he is,” he murmured, voice the softest Ranulf had ever heard it.

Then, as Ranulf was opening his mouth, Soren’s face fell right back into that frosted chill. His mouth perfectly straight, eyebrows slanted in a permanent frown, the shadows under his eyes looking more like bruises.

Soren wouldn't take the headband from him, a 'filthy sub-human’.  Not right now.

So, Ranulf decided to try another approach.

“Lethe told me,” Ranulf said, plopping himself on the edge of the desk. He was careful to make sure his tail didn't sweep any of the open books off. “About how you - ah, shall we say, 'provoked’ - them into attacking you.”

Soren's lips thinned. He gave Ranulf a sharp look from the corner of his eye, nothing more than a red silt. “...And what if I did?”

“She also told me,” Ranulf continued, “that you didn't try to defend yourself, or even fight back. Not until Ike was hurt.”

There was a long silence. Soren continued to glare at him with icy eyes, but Ranulf was no fool. Beyond that ice, he could see the exact point where it was beginning to melt.

Fear. Soren was afraid.

“It just seems a bit strange to me,” Ranulf said, when it became apparent that Soren had nothing to say. “Most beorc hurl themselves at us to try to hurt us. Why would you only use words?”

“You don't need brute force to hurt another,” Soren all but snarled. The quill in his fist was shaking from how tightly he was clenching it. “I possess little physical strength. What point would there be in me using it against the likes of you?”

“She said you used magic to try to protect Ike. So why not use it before?” Ranulf gave a rueful chuckle, swinging one leg over the other. “I've known Mordecai longer than you've been alive - probably.” If Soren really was what Ranulf suspected him to be, he could easily be over a hundred. “If  _ I'd _ seen him charging towards me, I’d try to defend myself.”

“Why do you care?”

Ranulf shrugged. “Just curious.”

He put the headband down next to him, in a tiny gap between sprawled over sheets and dog-earred books. Soren eyed it as if it would attack him.

“Why did you bring a…” He shook his head, tresses of hair coming loose from his ties and falling in front of his face. “...a  _ headband?” _

“Look - lemme be blunt, just for a second.” Soren turned slightly towards him with raised eyebrows, resting his quill on the desk. “You and I both know no one likes that mark on your forehead.”

Soren somehow went even paler than what he was before. He had had a tome in his lap, one that he was now clutching to his chest, fingers spraining around the edges of it.

“...What of it?” he asked, voice devoid of emotion. Carefully so.

Ranulf squeezed his eyes shut.

“That’s not the mark of a Spirit Charmer, is it?”

Soren’s silence spoke volumes. His fingernails were as ashen as his skin.

“It  _ is,”  _ he hissed. If he was trying to convince Ranulf, perhaps it would have been more effective if he could fool himself first.

“People here have been civil to you so far ‘cause you’re with Princess Elincia and Ike. But…” Ranulf glanced away, choked with shame at his own people’s actions. “Don’t let ‘em get you alone.”

“I can handle myself,” Soren spat. His voice was frigid. “I  _ know. _ I don’t need your condescension—” The tome slammed the table—  _ “or  _ your pity! Not from the very ones seeking to harm me! Not from a  _ sub-human!” _

Ranulf swallowed.

“...I know you can,” he said weakly. He’d only seen glimpses of Soren’s magic, the odd roar of wind or slam of thunder, but he hadn’t seen anyone else come close to wielding such power as easily as Soren did. “I was just… letting you know.”

_ “I already did.” _

Inhaling deeply, chest visibly heaving, Soren moved to grab a quill and the nearest sheet of paper; a map that had a fair amount of blots on it. He dipped the tip of the quill into a nearby ink pot. It rattled against the pot’s rim.

“If you have no further business with me,” he hissed, _ “leave.” _

He twisted his head away before Ranulf could even speak, the light scratches of quill against paper filling the silence.

Ranulf remained.

Soren was a curious one. His fear made sense - most beorc was terrified of laguz, of anything unknown, but even a teenage beorc could probably tear Soren apart limb to limb. He was rational enough to know that both laguz and beorc could harm him. He was thin, dangerously so, lithe and frail and paler than the snows that graced Gallia's harshest winters. Yet he moved with a determination and power that just  _ dared  _ others to interfere with him.  He was like a bush of thorns; small yet intimidating in appearance, difficult to approach, but prone to bending at even the gentlest of touches to the few who did come near. 

Was this what it meant, to be Branded? To be petrified of both laguz and beorc, to loathe both for how they shunned the parentless? Were they all similar to Soren?

But Soren didn't even  _ seem  _ to know that he was Branded, so he couldn't have been that old. Not much older than the beorc he kept company with, and certainly not old enough to have experienced enough to be as hateful and bitter and resentful as he was.

But yet… here he was.

About ten years ago - a bit longer, perhaps - one of the smaller villages within Gallia had had - stirrings. Upset, concerns, over a strange old mage a small distance away who apparently kept a Branded within his dwelling. With words dripping false concern and barely concealed disgust, villagers - beorc and laguz alike - had said that the monster had fooled the mage into thinking it was a Spirit Charmer. That it was something of value. Something that  _ mattered. _

At the time, it had seemed like such a small, tiny, insignificant complaint. It hadn’t attacked anyone in the village, or committed any crimes. What could the crown do? Even if it  _ was  _ a parentless, an abomination, you couldn’t punish it for something it hadn’t yet done.

And then the slaughter had occurred, nearly every villager murdered by a man gone berserk, and no one had ever seen the parentless ever again.

Maybe it had starved. Maybe it had just - gone. It wasn’t as though it was a notable loss.

Ranulf swallowed.

He took the headband back into his hands.

“When you end up in Begnion, look in their libraries.”

It was a long while before Soren spoke. _ “...Why?” _

“You’ll realise when you find it.”

“Find  _ what—” _

“But while you're in laguz territory, keep this headband on, or - something. Your hood. Your fringe.  _ Anything  _ to hide that mark.” Ranulf held out the headband again. “Beorc can't tell the difference. Us laguz can.”

“Difference between  _ what?”  _ came the sharp response, tinged with frustration, _ desperation. _

So he really didn’t know.

Ranulf stayed silent.

“...Why are you even here?” Soren's probing gaze examined every inch of Ranulf’s body. “What good does it do you to inform me of this?”

“None in particular. Just…” Ranulf ran a nail over the stray fibres of the headband, gazing at its faded colours. He twisted it in his fingers, circling it over and over again. “...Someone has to break the cycle of hate. Otherwise it’ll carry on forever.”

Many seconds passed before Soren lowered his quill, the tip of it clattering gently against the page he had been working on, leaving behind a streak of ink. The chair scraped as he pushed it back to fully face Ranulf. For many more seconds, he sat there, utterly still, utterly silent, until he stretched out a hand.

His fingers brushed against Ranulf’s palm; Soren lurched back, his chair almost toppling over with a deafening _ crack. _ He had the headband clutched in one hand, while Ranulf clenched his fist tight, trying to warm up the overwhelming  _ chill  _ that was tingling from his palm to his fingertips.

Gods, his hand was numb. Were all Branded so - so _ frozen,  _ or was that just Soren?

For a fraction of a second, barely longer than a blink, there was - something, in Soren's wide eyes. Something raw and unfamiliar, an emotion he couldn't control. A hint, perhaps, at the person he would have been, were it not for what was etched on his forehead.

But as soon as it had appeared, Ranulf could see the walls roaring back up, thicker than before. Soren isolating himself, all alone in his own little world, rejecting anyone who tried to get close.

Ranulf sighed. You couldn't say that he hadn't made an attempt.

And Soren had taken the headband, and he hadn't yet set it on fire, or tore it to shreds with his wind, so that… that was progress. It had to be.

“I hope you're not expecting thanks,” Soren said, which Ranulf knew was the closest to gratitude he'd ever get. Soren swallowed, headband clutched in both hands. “...If you don't need anything, leave. I have work to do.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ranulf mumbled. “I’ll let you get to it.” A pause. “Don’t stay up too late.”

The candlelight flickered. Soren glanced at him, his expression mostly hidden by long, looming shadows; but to Ranulf’s laguz eyes, he could see every detail, every hint of hesitation, every uncertainty. His jaw clenched, unclenched, multiple times.

“...Good night,” Soren eventually bit out between his teeth.

Ranulf nodded. “Same to you.”

His footsteps haunted the empty library like ghosts, each one echoing amongst the shelves. He stopped at the entrance and rested his palm flat against one of the overarching pillars.

Breathing in, Ranulf turned.

It was difficult to make out much from the sunset directly in his eyes, making Soren nothing more than a small silhouette, but he could see enough.

Soren raised the headband in his fingers. With an audible sigh, he pulled it onto his head, tucking it behind his ears and taking several seconds to tug his magnificent braid of hair through it. Once done, his hands remained on his head to adjust it, and then he was completely still.

Several seconds later, his body trembled, only oh-so-very slightly. Then, like a wave crashing against the shoreline, he broke silently, burying his head in his hands. A crack that would be covered up in seconds.

It’d be better if Ranulf pretended he’d seen nothing.

With a soft smile, he left, pulling the doors shut behind him without a single noise.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed!! comments and kudos are Awesome :3
> 
> [I have a twitter!!](http://twitter.com/greenpiggles) check it out if you wanna! and thanks again for reading~


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